The Nestling
by Philippa
Summary: Post Batman Begins: Bruce’s life grows even more complicated when Wayne Manor receives a new inhabitant…Dick Grayson. The boy hides behind a wall of silence, scarred by his tragic past. But Batman is going to teach this crippled bird how to fly. Moved fro
1. Hatching

**A/N** This little plot bunny 'twas born, unsurprisingly, upon the viewing of _Batman Begins_. Although I have had some exposure to the old shows, this story is based primarily upon _BB_.

**Rated** for two scenes of moderate violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman (or Bruce Wayne), or any technology thereby associated. I do not own Robin (or Dick Grayson), or any boy wonderfulness thereby achieved. I do not own Alfred (or a British accent), or any excellent service thereby rendered. I do not own Christian Bale. (_Sigh…_)

**Bat-Chapter 1: Hatching**

"He's my _what_?" Bruce stared in disbelief at the furious face of Rachel Dawes.

"Your _ward_, Bruce, your legal responsibility. And you've ignored him, abandoned him to the lawyers, who dumped him in foster care. You know how I found him?" He figured it was a rhetorical question since she plunged on without waiting for an answer. "In a drug bust. A _drug bust_. Apparently a little sideline of the couple who ran the distribution center was milking social services. They had seven children crammed into a filthy hole of a room, while they collected support money and got free labor. They had the kids rolling coke into cigars."

The story was terrible, but hardly shocking. "Typical Gotham," Bruce remarked quietly.

"Is that all you can say?" Rachel hissed in disgust. "You think the only time you have any responsibility for people is when you're wearing a mask and a…"

She broke off as Bruce's hand grabbed her shoulder in an iron grip. Realizing what she had almost said, Rachel flushed and glanced around the empty conference room. But she knew too well that in Gotham, just looking like you were alone was no indication that you were. "Sorry," she muttered, "but you do have a responsibility to the boy."

"Yes, and that's the part I don't quite understand. The only relatives I ever remember having are an elderly aunt and a second cousin, neither of whom is named…what was it again?"

"Grayson, Richard Grayson," Rachel replied stiffly, and looked pointedly at the hand that still rested on her shoulder.

"How can Richard possibly be my responsibility?" Bruce quietly dropped his hand to his side.

Now a look of puzzlement entered her eyes. "You mean you don't know?"

"No," he said patiently. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past five minutes."

Rachel turned a brilliant red and muttered, "Well excuse me for thinking you know what goes on in your own company."

"It's a big company."

Realizing she no longer had the advantage, Rachel switched to brisk and businesslike. "The boy was willed to you."

Bruce frowned. "Impossible…I never consented to such a thing."

"Well, not to you exactly," Rachel conceded. "To the Wayne Corporation. Charles Grayson, Richard's father, was hired the year after you disappeared. His contract contained a clause to the effect that should anything happen to him while he was in the employ of the Wayne Corporation, the company would take responsibility for his family. Charles was killed two years after he signed the contract. His wife received support checks until, well…" She trailed off, compassion written across her lovely face.

"How did she die?" Bruce inquired.

"She was killed in the chaos caused by Crane's nerve gas. Ran into some of the Arkham inmates." She couldn't repress a slight shudder as she remembered her own horrifying experiences under the influence of the hallucinogen.

"I see." Bruce's mouth was hard. "Where is the boy?"

"I left him with your secretary."

Without another word he scooped up his briefcase and strode out the room, pulling a cell phone from his suit coat pocket. Rachel scurried after him. "What are you going to do?"

"Call Alfred."

"What?"

"It's what I usually do when I'm expecting a house guest."

"Wait…you mean you're taking him home with you? That is _not_ a good idea."

He stopped, thumb poised above 'dial.' "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted you to pull some strings and find him a nice home with a nice family."

"I have a nice home."

"It's not about having a mansion!" Glancing at some passing executives, Rachel stepped closer and lowered her voice. "You are not exactly a father figure. Richard needs someone to spend time with him, to keep him safe." Bruce slowly raised one dark eyebrow, and Rachel realized that 'keep him safe' might not have been the greatest phrase to discourage a crime fighter. "He needs an authority figure to be a good example he can copy," she said coldly.

"Ah, you think I'll be a bad influence on him," Bruce accused.

"Yes! No…I don't know." Rachel's shoulders slumped. She hadn't had a full night's sleep in a week, and this confrontation was more complicated than she had bargained for.

"Maybe you're right," Bruce said, and dropped the phone back into his pocket.

Rachel's head flew up at the quiet admission, but he was already striding down the hallway, and she had to run to catch up. "So what are you going to do?" she again demanded, panting slightly.

"I don't know," he admitted. He pushed through the door and froze. There, swallowed by a brown leather chair, was a slight, blonde-headed boy. The same little boy that Rachel had sheltered on Crane's night of horrors. The same little boy who defied his friends and believed in Batman…

Richard Grayson's face was young, but his eyes were ancient. The grief and loneliness of loss did not give children time to grow up. Bruce knew that all too well. An unexpected surge of fierce protectiveness washed over him, a burning desire to protect this child and seek justice for the evil he had suffered. _The Batman instinct_, Bruce thought wryly.

Batman. Rachel had refused to love him because she believed he had nothing left to give to a relationship, a family. Maybe she was right. But if he had unconsciously neglected this child once, there was no way he could knowingly abandon him now.

Pulling the phone from his pocket, he hit the buttons without taking his eyes from that still, small figure. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Wayne."

"We're going to have a guest."

------

_Will Bruce succeed in claiming his ward, or will Rachel's mistrust prevail?_

_Don't forget to join us for the exciting continuation – same bat-time, same bat-channel._

**All bat-reviewers will be given an authentic souvenir piece of the Batmobile.1**

1Supplies are limited.


	2. Featherless

**A/N** I'm absolutely ecstatic over the reception of this story! Thank you so much, all of you who reviewed! I'm headed off for a few days, so next update will be on Friday. (The chapters get a little longer after this.)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters, gadgetry, or sound effects associated with Batman.

**Bat-Chapter 2: Featherless**

"Bruce!" Rachel hissed furiously, but he ignored her and crossed the room to where Richard Grayson sat motionless in his chair.

Dropping to his knees, he watched as the pale eyes slowly focused on him. "Hey," he said easily, "I'm Bruce." He waited but the boy made no response. "I've got a big house and lots of room, so you're going to come stay with me for a while. If that's ok with you," he added. The boy still made no indication that he had heard. Bruce was beginning to feel a bit desperate when a shadow fell over his head and an intense expression of relief broke out on the boy's face. Bruce looked up to see Rachel standing next to them.

"Hey, buddy, you ok?" she asked, gently running a hand through the kid's hair. He nodded in quick, small jerks. "Listen, I need to talk to Mr. Wayne for a minute." Richard's eyes again filled with fear, and Rachel quickly said, "We'll just be right over there." The boy leaned over the arm of the chair to see where her finger pointed and slowly nodded. Bruce stood and let Rachel tug him over to the corner. "Bruce, I told you I don't want you taking him!"

He met her glare calmly. "You don't want him to come with me, fine. But why don't you take him? He's obviously attached to you." Richard, in fact, was staring at them intently, as if afraid Rachel would disappear if he took his eyes from her.

"I can't," she muttered. "My mom's not doing well, and even if I was actually in my apartment to do more than sleep, my landlord doesn't let kids in the building."

"You could always take him back to Social Services," Bruce said sarcastically.

"You know that's not an option."

"And you're as short on friends willing to take in a stray kid as I am." He saw the look of defeat on her face and pressed his advantage. "Look, Alfred will be there too. Whatever shortcomings I might have he'll more than make up for. And you can visit as often as you like." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I meant the boy, not me!" he exclaimed impatiently. "Rachel, I'm your friend, not a defendant. Remember?"

She sighed and he knew that he had won. "I guess there's no other choice. _For now_."

"We'll see," he said under his breath as she headed back to the chair.

Rachel knelt before the silent boy. "Honey, Mr. Wayne is a…good friend of mine. He's going to take really good care of you at his house. I would take you home with me if I could, but I can't right now." She looked anxiously into his face. "I promise I'll come see you a lot. And you can come visit me too, ok?"

The boy spoke for the first time since Bruce had entered the room. "Tomorrow?" he pleaded.

"Yes," Rachel promised. She stood, looking at her watch. "I have to go. I had an appointment ten minutes ago." She turned and lowered her voice, "I swear, Bruce, if you hurt him…"

"I am not going to hurt him," he gritted through clenched teeth. "What do you think I am?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe I never did." She closed her eyes tiredly and shook her head. "I've gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow," she told Richard, offering all the comfort she could in a smile. And then she was gone.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me." The kid looked at Bruce like he was Crane in a burlap mask. "Yeah, uh, shall we go down to my car?" The boy slowly pushed himself off the chair, and Bruce saw that he'd been half sitting on a battered red backpack. "Is that your stuff?" Bruce asked, and was pleasantly surprised when he got a nod. Maybe this wouldn't be impossible.

The kid was absolutely silent as they drove. Bruce made a few desultory remarks, but found that holding a one-sided conversation with that statue-like figure was more daunting than tackling Rha's Al Ghulon a moving train.

At last Wayne manor, statelier than ever in its resurrection from the ashes, loomed before them. Bruce pulled into the carport and turned off the engine, unnecessarily announcing, "Here we are!" He waited for the kid to walk slowly around the car, then led him to the side door which Alfred held open.

"Welcome home, Master Wayne," the butler said in his crisp accent, then paused expectantly.

Bruce spoke with forced cheerfulness. "Alfred, this is my ward, Richard Grayson. Richard, this is Alfred. He takes care of us."

Alfred nodded respectfully. "How do you do, Master Richard?"

"Dick." The boy spoke so softly Bruce wondered if he was imagining things. "My name is Dick."

"I beg your pardon, Master Dick, I shall remember in the future. Now, if you would care to follow me, I have prepared a light afternoon repast. Unless you would care to go to your room first?" Dick shook his head. "Excellent. This way, then." Alfred turned and led the way indoors, and with only a slight moment of hesitation, the boy followed. "I hope you enjoy chocolate chip," the British accent drifted back. "I was unfortunately ignorant of your personal preferences…"

Bruce watched the retreating figures in mixed relief and exasperation. _I couldn't get the kid to say a single word all the way from Wayne Tower, and now he's practically Alfred's best friend._

That night, Bruce cautiously stuck his head through the half open door of Dick's room. The boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. "May I come in?" Bruce asked.

Dick shrugged, not looking up. Taking that as a yes, Bruce walked in. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he asked casually, "You all settled in?" His quick glance showed no visible change in the room. Remembering the boy's single backpack, he supposed there wouldn't have been much to unpack. "Do you like the room?" He got another shrug. "I realize it's a little boring right now, but that means there's a lot of space to put in stuff you like…" He trailed off as he realized his words were generating no interest.

Stepping nearer, Bruce took a close look at the boy. He was skinny, even for his small size, and the translucent skin drawn tight over his face gave him a skull-like appearance. It was the end of summer, and the boy was pale as a ghost. With a searing flash of anger, Bruce spotted a faint bruise near the back of Dick's jaw. _Four months since his mother died. Was he stuck in that hell the whole time?_

At a loss for anything else to say, his eyes dropped to the object Dick studied so intently. It was a small, black, and familiar box. _Oh boy_. It wasn't the topic of conversation Bruce would have chosen, but he didn't have a lot of choice. "Weird box," he remarked. "What is it?"

There was a long moment of silence, then boy said in the same inaudible voice he'd used all day, "It helps you look through stuff."

"Wow, where'd you get it? I'd guess they don't sell it at Toys 'R' Us."

After an even longer pause Dick whispered, "Batman gave it to me."

"You know Batman?" Bruce sounded suitably impressed.

Dick hunched his shoulders. "Not really."

The silence grew deafening and Bruce gave in, feeling like a coward. "I guess I'd better let you get to bed. You know how to ring for Alfred if you need anything?"

Dick nodded.

"And my room's just down the hall." _Not that I'll be in it_, Bruce thought with a twinge of guilt. But there had been a message from Lieutenant Gordon. "Goodnight," he said, not really expecting an answer. He didn't get one.

_------_

_What will it take for Bruce to overcome his ward's tragic past?_

_Find out in our next exciting installment – same bat-time, same bat-channel._

**All bat-reviewers will be issued an insurance policy guaranteeing compensation should an attack by the Joker, the Penguin, Mr. Freeze, or Catwoman lead to loss of life and/or limbs and/or sanity.**

**A/N** If anyone knows what the black box viewer thing that Batman tosses to the blonde kid on the fire escape is actually called, please let me in on the secret!

**Notes to Reviewers** (in alphabetical order)

**Antigone3:** I'm glad you approve my interpretation! I have to admit, I've always enjoyed Robin's corny jokes, but the challenge of making him fit into the "realistic" (so to speak) universe of BB was irresistible.

**Arabella:** YOU CAME! Of course, now you're going away again sniff sniff Is there really a lot of Heyer and Loring in this story? I realize that they, along with a few others (Tolkien, Pratchett, McKinley, Wrede…), do have an integral impact on _everything_ I write, but I hadn't thought that those particular influences were prominent in this story. Wasn't the kid wearing a red sweatshirt? And you really should write me a scathing review sometime. 'Twould be highly interesting.

**Gewher:** That was the first thing I thought when the kid popped up on the screen. (At least, I think it was.) Hope you enjoyed the update!

**Goth Child of Zyon:** About that piece of the Batmobile…Did I mention that supplies were limited?

**Haley:** Thanks for the encouragement!

**Lyerial:** Brilliant, eh? I fear I'm getting a big head. Thanks for the review and I hope this update was quick enough!

**Melismata Maiden:** I can't claim that I've hashed it out with the screenwriters, but I was surprised not to find any other stories that made the blonde boy/Robin assumption. (If you run across any let me know.) It seems so obvious to me. I don't if Alfred really spoils him – at the moment, I have the idea that Bruce does the spoiling and it's up to Alfred to keep both Bruce and Dick in line.

**Ouatic7:** Your remark about Alfred picking up the slack in Bruce's parenting skills cracks me up, since I wrote a line almost exactly like that into this chapter! About the occupations of Dick's parents – I explained my limited Batman background at the beginning of chapter 1, so there are definitely going to be departures from canon. (I'd also like this to be my story, not DC Comic's.) However, I'm trying to leave the fabric of the story loose enough that I can weave in background material. I'd like to include at least the most major points of canon (in some distorted form or other), and that seems to be a major one, so thanks for bringing it up! (It would have been the 60's batmobile, but, er…supplies were limited.)

**Pun:** Believe it or not, the orphan parallel between Bruce and Dick didn't strike me until I started writing this story. And then it hit me between the eyes. WHAM!

**Sobaka:** I think Rachel is a jerk where Bruce is concerned. I liked her fine all through the movie…right up to the part where she leads him on, kisses him, and then tells him he's no longer the man she loves. So I'm relieved you don't mind my portrayal of her! (I actually thought about sticking an apology to any Rachel fans at the beginning, but decided I was being true to character.)

**Starpossum:** I hope this update was quick enough for you (lol)! You almost didn't make it onto the list, I found your review just as I was getting ready to post the chapter. So thank you, and I hope you enjoyed the continuation!

**Timaios:** blushes Why thank you! Oh…you meant the story…


	3. Taking Flight

**A/N **Well, that section of my crazy summer is over with. Next chapter should be up Monday or Tuesday.

If anyone from England is reading this, please accept my sincere sympathy for the terrible tragedy that happened Thursday. My prayers are with your country.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or Robin. My lawyers are still slugging it out over Alfred. Good help is hard to find these days.

**Bat-Chapter 3: Taking Flight**

A shadow among the shadows (his preferred method of camouflage), Batman crouched on the edge of the station roof, the infrared vision enhancer on his mask lighting up the figures in the scene below. Swift and silent, men moved around a dark line of boxcars, going in empty handed and emerging with bulky crates. According to the shipment manifest, the boxes contained fine china for Gladelands, Gotham's most exclusive department store. But Batman knew that imported china was the cheapest cargo the crates held. _Colombian white gold. How many kilos are coming in tonight?_

And this wasn't just any bunch of drug dealers. This particular train had been the supply source for the couple that had held Dick Grayson and six other children captive. One black gloved hand clenched in fury, but the Caped Crusader forced himself to subdue the compulsion to plunge like a rain of fire on the unsuspecting criminals. _Patience. They're just little fish. Follow the chain_. It did no good to round up the petty dealers and pushers. The big men (or women) at the top just found more flunkies to sell their product. It had taken weeks to work the chain back this far, and he had no intention of wasting Gordon's hard work.

At last the movement around the boxcars began to wane, and the muffled figures drifted one by one into the hot August night. The last to leave was a man who had lifted no boxes at all, but had directed the operation from the interior of the car. He walked around the corner of the station and slipped into the parking garage, blissfully unaware of his dark stalker.

One moment he was fitting the key to the door of his silver Corvette, the next he was slammed against the chest high concrete barrier.

"Where does it come from?" a harsh voice rasped in his ear.

The man was shaking in terror. "I don't…I don't know what you're talking about!"

The grip on his neck tightened painfully. "Are you a stupid man? For your sake, I hope not." Suddenly, the dealer found himself dangling over the wrong side of the barrier, five stories above the ground. "Where does it come from?"

"I…I don't know." He shrieked as he was shaken like a rag doll. "I don't know! All I know is...the stuff's not on the train until it reaches Gotham. And then we take it right off again."

His tormentor gave a sharp hiss. "How do you know to meet the train?"

"Flyer…first letter…"

A shot rang out, and the man in Batman's grip transformed from a struggling weight to a dead one. The Caped Crusader dropped the body and flung himself over the Corvette, just as another slug slammed into the wall.

His enhanced vision immediately located the man crouching behind a concrete post, but before he could make a move in that direction a car roared down from the roof of the garage. With a squeal of breaks, it stopped just long enough for the shooter to throw himself inside, then screamed away, treads smoking.

Without hesitation, Batman dove over the side of the garage. His forefinger and thumb closed together, sending the charge that stiffened his cape, allowing him to glide to within two feet of the Batmobile (as it had been dubbed by the Gotham media). As he landed, he saw his quarry slam through the barrier arm of the garage, debris flying.

Leaping into the Batmobile, he jerked the engine to life, prepared to speed after the escapees…just as a crowd of late show viewers emerged from the theater across the street.

Batman's fist met the steering wheel. In between the waves of pain that washed up his arm, he reflected bitterly that pursuit was no longer possible without endangering either lives or public property. _And that, Alfred would never approve_.

**

* * *

It had been nearly three weeks since orphaned Dick Grayson had come to stay at Wayne Manor. Thanks to Alfred's careful feeding, his cheeks were rounding out, the skin no longer pinched tightly across his bones. Hours of floating on a raft in the crescent shaped swimming pool (the Olympic sized one was indoors) had put a flush of color and a scattering of freckles on his once pasty skin. But despite his improved health, he remained unnaturally subdued.**

Alfred could sometimes coax him into bits of conversation in the kitchen. Dick never asked for food, but if anything edible was in his vicinity, he followed it with hungry, haunted eyes. Once Alfred, after saturating the boy with a particularly liberal dose of milk and cookies, wormed out of him the admission that "there wasn't much to eat where I was before." Alfred, uncharacteristically furious, said to Bruce, "Gotham and the Old American South – there's not much difference where slavery's concerned, now is there?"

To Bruce, Dick spoke only in monosyllables or not at all.

In fact, the only person who seemed capable of bringing vitality to that wary face was Rachel. She had spent as much time with him as she could, taking him clothes shopping, to the zoo, to the movies, or just for a walk through the manor's gorgeous gardens. For Rachel Dick would smile, and once Alfred even overheard a soft laugh. But the scales of justice were being rebalanced, and the new chief D.A. was all but run off her feet. (She hadn't even had time to search for a new apartment, as she had more than half intended to do.) So Dick spent most of his time sitting motionless by a window or floating in the pool, staring lifelessly into some private view.

On that particular afternoon, which happened to be a Tuesday, Bruce dragged himself out of bed around two o'clock and wandered down to the small kitchen (decorated in the same cheery yellow it had borne in his grandmother's day. The main kitchen, with its unbroken stainless steel, was the strict domain of the head chef).

"Good afternoon, Master Wayne," Alfred said, entirely too enthusiastically.

"'Ullo," the billionaire muttered groggily, slumping down at the breakfast bar. Batman had been on the prowl until nearly dawn, and Bruce Wayne was paying for it.

Alfred placed a glass of orange juice and a bowl of unidentifiable brown cereal before his employer. Bruce scowled at it. "What is this?"

"Whole fiber bran pellets, sir. Good for the heart and highly recommended for those with high pressure lifestlyes."

"Marvelous." In Bruce's opinion, the substance bore an appalling resemblance to dog food. "Ship it to the president." Bruce shoved the bowl away and grabbed his orange juice. "What happened to bacon and eggs?"

"Really, Master Wayne," Alfred said reproachfully, "I thought I might count on you to set a good example for young Master Dick."

Startled, Bruce swung around and saw the small figure seated on the windowsill. Dick was staring, but the moment he caught Bruce's eyes, his own dropped to the floor. Sighing softly, Bruce turned back around pulled the bowl toward him. _Talk about hitting below the belt. Just wait until I get you alone, you wretched excuse for a nutritionist._ Gripping his spoon like a dagger, he wore the expression of a man determined to do his duty or die in the attempt.

The phone rang.

Bruce dropped his spoon and grabbed the kitchen extension, half a second before Alfred got to it. _With any luck I'll be immediately called away to Bermuda…_ "Hello?...This is Wayne…My _what_?...There must be some mistake!…Yes, I see…Thank you…Goodbye." He hung up forcefully, but his voice was quite calm. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Wayne?"

"I don't suppose you would, by any _strange_ chance, happen to know why the manager of the Gotham Green Country Club thinks he just received three polo ponies for me?"

Alfred was placidly polishing silver at the other end of the bar. He didn't look up from his task as he replied, "Yes, sir. The ponies came up for sale at the Silver Star Farms auction last week. I took the liberty of bidding on them, and got them, I might add, at an excellent bargain."

"Ah, then the ponies are yours."

"No, sir, I bid in your name."

Bruce smacked his fist down on the marble counter and forgot whatever he was going to say as his face contorted in pain. Alfred looked pointedly at the dark bruise that covered his employer's fingers. "Really, Master Wayne, you must be more careful with those cupboard doors. Particularly if you intend to take up polo, in which, I understand, a good grip is vital."

Bruce ground his teeth. "Alfred, I do not play polo."

"Not yet, sir. But I'm told that it's easy to pick up if you have the proper riding skills."

Breathing through his nose, Bruce counted slowly to ten. Then he stood and said deliberately, "I'll be working downstairs today." He turned to leave the kitchen.

"But, sir, your bran pellets!"

With a snarl, Bruce snatched up his bowl and stalked out of the room.

The western horizon was a blaze of crimson when the phone rang again. Alfred picked up the extension. "Wayne Manor…Why hello, Miss Dawes…I'm quite well, thank you…Oh, yes, I see…Well, Master Dick will certainly miss you…may I take the liberty of wishing you a pleasant journey?...One moment, I'll inform him."

Setting the receiver on the small table, Alfred opened the door to the library, where Dick was quietly turning over the pages of a comic book. "Master Dick, Miss Dawes is on the telephone. She wishes to speak with you."

The boy's face lit up and he scrambled for the library extension. Alfred retreated to the other phone. He lifted the receiver to his ear to ensure Dick had made the connection and was just in time to hear the boy's voice edged with panic. "Please don't go!"

Alfred hung up his extension before he could hear Rachel's reply, but continued to stand by the phone, a frown creasing his brow. After three weeks one would think the boy should have begun to feel comfortable in his new home, but Dick remained listless and uncommunicative. "If anyone asked me," Alfred addressed the empty hall, "I'd say the boy was building toward the breaking point. And if he doesn't let it out, it will mean trouble for everyone."

"Excuse me, Mr. Alfred," a timid voice spoke from behind.

Alfred turned to see the chef's assistant wringing his hands. "Yes, George, what is it?"

"It's Chef, sir. The mushrooms haven't come in, and he says if the sauce is ruined on account of one more late delivery, he'll quit."

_The French temperament,_ Alfred reflected bitterly, as he hurried to deal with the latest domestic crisis, momentarily pushing the youngest member of the household to the back of his mind.

It took nearly half an hour to soothe the irate chef, and Alfred had to promise to call and berate the produce company himself, before the man could be persuaded to continue with dinner. The butler escaped into the small kitchen and picked up the phone. It was dead. Frowning, he rattled the button, then switched to one of manor's alternate lines. The dial tone came through immediately. _Perhaps one of the extensions is not hung up properly_. After placing the call, in much politer language than Chef would have wished, he walked to library.

The phone was off the hook, lying on the stand where Dick must have abandoned it. A gust of breeze drew Alfred's attention to the floor length French windows which stood flung open, the curtains snapping in the wind.

A sense of foreboding tickled the roots of Alfred's mustache. "Master Dick!" he called, as he stepped outside and squinted through the twilight. "Master Dick!" There was no response.

Reentering the library, Alfred shut the windows and hurried toward the pool. But neither it, nor any other place Dick frequented yielded a trace of the small boy. Last, he entered Dick's bedroom. The red backpack, which that morning had hung over the back of the desk chair, was gone.

Alfred snatched up the receiver to the in-house intercom and tapped a code known only to two people. "Master Wayne!"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"It's Master Dick. I believe he's run away!"

_Where is Dick? Will Bruce find him in time? Or is there tragedy lurking on the grounds of stately Wayne Manor?_

_The answers are in the thrilling continuation – same bat-time, same bat-channel._

**All bat-reviewers will be nominated for the Gold Star Bat-Fan award. Each nominee will have their names inscribed in **_**The Bat Book of Fame**_** and will****receive a tasteful certificate, suitable for framing, and a golden bat lapel pin.**

(75 application fee required.)

**Notes to Reviewers **(in alphabetical order)**:**

**Archer:** I'm relieved that you think a story can be good even if departs from canon. As far as I know, all the Batman canons aren't exactly in agreement anyway. Thanks for your encouragement!

**Bronzeiris:** Argue away, my friend, convert those unbelievers!. I mean, what's the point of having the kid in the movie in the first place, if he's not going to play a part in the future?

**Bubbles:** I'M SO GLAD YOU READ MY STORY! Hee hee. No, seriously, it was nice of you. And, er, I'm glad you thought it was cool about Robin being "that one kid." (Sigh…you just don't understand how really, really good looking Christian Bale IS!) Don't forget to give me your story!

**Goth Child of Zyon:** Good to see you back! Hope the insurance comes in handy…remember, most villains tend to avoid the sun…

**IcyWaters:** I can't tell you how much I enjoyed your comments, thank you for taking the time to write them out! I particularly appreciated the way you quoted specific lines you enjoyed, it's a huge boost to my confidence. I agree, Dick is a reality problem, but that's what makes writing him so much fun. I really enjoy the challenge of fabricating plausible explanation for the ludicrous. I also agree that it's important for Dick and Bruce to have a relationship that exists outside the Batcave, so to speak. That's why Batman's appearances in this story are very limited. And yes, Rachel has a right to be extremely wary around Bruce. What I don't think she has a right to do is toy with him the way she did in her final scene in BB. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think the screenwriters goofed. It feels contradictory to the rest of her character. Maybe I should have changed the scene for the purpose of this story, but then I wouldn't have the fun of trying to make it plausible!

**Kitty2228:** Thanks, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Lyerial:** How long will it take Dick to figure it out? Well…I could tell you, but…I'd rather keep you in suspense. laughs in a minimally evil way

**Moonjava:** I'm glad you like Richard. I must confess that he's rather captured my heart. And yes, Rachel is definitely a part of it. How could she not be, after saving Dick's life? (My friend thinks Rachel will adopt the boy and then get herself killed. I think I prefer my version.)

**Ms.JonyReb: **I think emotional tension is a big part of any superhero or secret agent story because of the dual identity situation. What makes it worse for Batman is that when Rachel discovers his secret, it pushes her away rather than resolving the tension (as opposed to Spiderman and M.J., for example.)

**Ruby Soul: **I'm glad to hear you'll be keeping an eye on this fic! (Although it might easier to read with two eyes…hee hee.)

**Shotboxer:** I think it's important that Bruce and Dick have a relationship that exists outside the whole Batman thing. Bruce deserves to be loved for more than his mask. (I am SUCH a girl.) Thanks for the reassurance on characterization!

**Starpossum:** Thanks for coming back! Yeah, Dick is great. Up until this movie, I would have taken Robin over Batman anytime…now I might have to think it over. And speaking of the movie, for goodness' sake, go see it!

**TheAmazingTecnocolorRingWraith****: **Thanks for your reviews! And yeah to that stuff you said about Rachel. It's like she got the ice cream flavor she ordered, took a lick, and threw the rest in the trash. Uh…sorry, I have a weakness for dumb metaphors.

**TV Chick:** Thanks for the note. Be seein' ya!


	4. Bats and Birds

**A/N **A outrageously large thank you to everyone who took the time to review. There's nothing quite like getting that "Review Alert" in your inbox.

And as an interesting bit of trivia, according to my stats page, this story has had over one thousand hits!

**Disclaimer:** Due to circumstances beyond our control, today's disclaimer has been canceled.

**Bat-Chapter 4: Bats and Birds**

Bruce glanced worriedly at the dark sky as another rumble of thunder rolled across the air. He lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Any luck, Alfred?"

"No, Master Wayne. Should I start back and alert the rest of the staff?"

"Yes." Bruce's mouth tightened grimly. He hadn't wanted to send out the entire household for fear of scaring Dick even more than he already was. But after an hour of searching and the storm blowing in fast, there was no other choice.

There was almost no chance the boy would actually leave the grounds. A high wall topped with electrically charged wire ran around the perimeter of the property, but the grounds of Wayne Manor consisted of acres full of gazebos, groves, and all manner of hiding places. Bruce's guess, however, had been that Dick would run into the wall, and then follow it around, trying to find a way out. He and Alfred had gone in opposite directions, searching along the perimeter, but Alfred had finished his half without success and Bruce was nearly done with his.

A dark mass loomed in front of him, and Bruce shined his Maglight over the Cat in puzzlement, before remembering that construction had begun a week ago. Alfred had suggested that fishing would provide a convenient excuse for long hours of solitude, and Bruce had promptly ordered the construction of a reservoir on the eastern corner of his property.

He made his way warily among the huge machines, the flickering moonlight through the ragged clouds more confusing than darkness. "Dick!" he bellowed over the rising wind. "Dick!"

A high cry was almost lost in the booming thunder. Bruce froze. _Was it only a trick of the wind_? Then the sound came again, thin and desperate. "Heeeelp!"

"Dick!" shouted Bruce, sprinting forward. He automatically took in the line of yellow construction tape, the markers that had been knocked down by the wind…and then he skidded to a stop, just before plunging over a crumbling precipice. Leaping back, he dropped to his stomach and peered over the edge. His Maglight lit the white face just before a flash of lightning illuminated his ward, clinging impossibly to the face of the dirt ten feet below the edge. "Hang on! I'm coming!"

He saw the boy's face turn toward him before he jumped up and ran back to the machines. He pulled the walkie-talkie out of his pocket. "Alfred, I've found him. Bring a car out to the lake." He didn't hear the reply, because he was already scrambling into the cab of a forklift. "Rope, cable, anything…" There was nothing useful and he jumped back out in disgust. "Where's Batman when I need him!"

Another crack of lightning illuminated a pickup, half hidden behind a bulldozer. Bruce ran over and pulled the tarp off the back. There it was – a coil of thick nylon rope. Fervently blessing the truck owner he ran back toward the unfinished lakebed, looped a strong knot around the wheel of the nearest Cat, and ran backwards over the edge.

The dirt cascaded away beneath his feet as he skidded down the side of the hole, ripping his jeans and burning his hands. And then he jerked to a stop – the end of the rope in his hands and five feet between himself and the boy. _Excellent planning, Bruce. Now what?_ Twenty feet to a ground littered with dangerous construction litter. Five feet down and across crumbling soil to reach the boy. Even as he watched, one of Dick's handholds gave way and the boy slipped another few inches down before he could stop himself.

_We can't wait for Alfred. Especially if it starts to rain._ Reinforcing his fear, the lightning and thunder made themselves known, flash and crack almost inseparable.

Wrapping the end of the rope securely around his right hand, he slowly extended his arms until he dangled full length at the end of the rope. Scrabbling with his free hand and both feet, he inched his way to the left until he was stretched at angle across the face of the precipice. But it wasn't enough. A full foot and a half still remained between his knees and Dick's head.

And then, before Bruce could realize what he was doing, Dick gathered himself and leaped. Launching up and over the treacherous surface he collided with Bruce's legs, knocking his tentative footholds loose so that the rope swung back to the vertical.

Bruce spat out his mouthful of dirt and peered down, terrified of what he might see. And found his ward clinging for dear life to his ankles. Nearly laughing with relief, Bruce reached a hand down and a moment later Dick was clinging to Bruce's chest like he was Velcro-ed on.

"You ok?" Bruce asked anxiously. Dick moved his head in what Bruce hoped was a nod. "Ok, then. We're getting out of here." Gritting his teeth against the pain in his hands, he hauled straight up until he could brace his feet against the side. And then it began to rain.

"You gotta love my luck," Bruce muttered as the dirt beneath them melted into mud and the slick rope skidded through his hands. _No wonder Batman uses a self-propelling grappling gun._ And then, _Blast Fox's technology. I've gotten soft._

Several slippery minutes later, a filthy Bruce and his equally muddy ward clawed their way over the edge of the hole. Bruce lay still for a moment, relishing the solidity of the ground. "I defy Batman himself to have done better." He turned his head and saw Dick curled into a shaking ball.

Bruce pushed himself up. "Alfred's coming with a car. Why don't we go meet him?" He scooped the shivering boy into his arms, and the kid wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck in a hold worthy of a hangman's noose. They walked for less than a minute before headlights glared through the rain, and Alfred brought the Land Rover to a stop in front of them.

Bruce yanked open the passenger's door and crawled in, still holding Dick. He pushed the hair out of his eyes with a muddy hand and grinned at his butler. "So much for the upholstery."

Alfred threw the car into gear and began the drive back to the mansion. "Is he injured?" he asked anxiously.

"I don't think so," Bruce replied.

Dick had stopped shivering and a moment later he said timidly, "Hey, Alfred."

"Good evening, Master Dick. You gave us quite a scare."

"I'm sorry," Dick whispered.

"Yes, well, seeing as Master Wayne has already turned all of my hair white, I don't know that you have too much to blame yourself for."

Back in the comforting stateliness of Wayne manor, Bruce gently pried Dick's hands from around his neck. "I'll be right back, I promise. But I think we could both use a shower." Dick seemed satisfied and allowed Alfred to lead him away to the tender mercies of hot water.

True to his word, a clean Bruce was waiting in Dick's room when the boy emerged, pink and steaming, from the bathroom. "Feel better?" Bruce asked nervously.

But Dick smiled (S_miled!_), shyly. "Yeah."

Alfred, as ever knowing just when he was wanted, appeared laden with a silver tray and two mugs of cocoa. Setting the tray on the desk, he picked up the muddy red backpack. "Master Dick, shall I launder this as well?"

"Sure," Dick said into his cocoa, and Alfred gingerly unzipped the bag and placed the contents on the desk.

"What's this?" Bruce asked curiously, shaking out the ragged bundle that topped the heap.

Dick's ears turned red. "It's just a…I mean, um…my mom made it."

It was a baby blanket, tattered and stained and obviously much loved. Bruce was about to drop the subject and let his ward retain his dignity, when the stitching around the edge of the quilt caught his eye. Lifting it, he saw that the figure of a tiny brown bird with a red breast had been embroidered in various acrobatic positions all around the border. "Wow, your mom did all this?"

"Yeah." Dick seemed to have lost his embarrassment and stepped closer. With one finger he reached out and gently stroked the little birds. "Because she was Robyn. She made it when I was little." He hunched his thin shoulders and turned to the desk.

Bruce watched in silence as the boy picked up the Bat-viewer and slowly turned it over in his fingers. "Bruce?" Dick asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think, if Batman had known my mom was in danger, that he would've saved her?"

Bruce flinched, then carefully laid the blanket over the back of the chair. He moved so that he was facing Dick and knelt down to eye level. "Yeah, if he'd known, I definitely think he would have. But…there were so many people in trouble that night, and Batman, he…he had to stop the bad guys before they hurt anyone else." Bruce heard the pleading in his own voice, and realized with shock how important it was that this scrawny, eight-year-old kid understood. And then he opened his mouth and denied all that he had tried to create since Batman first soared over Gotham. "Batman…he does his best, but he's just one man."

"Maybe he needs someone to help him," Dick whispered.

"Yeah, maybe."

The boy was staring down at the box again, and tears began to slip down his cheeks. Bruce watched helplessly as the slight form began to tremble. "I used it and I looked through the walls…I thought I could help us escape, but they caught me…" Dick's frame shook with his hoarse, rapid breathing. "I couldn't find her. She was just taking out the trash…I couldn't find her…"

Bruce's breath stopped as the guilt which had haunted him from childhood to the mountains of Tibet wrenched the words from Dick's mouth. _So many years under the shadow…Alfred told me…I wouldn't listen…Not this boy…It will be different. It HAS to be._

"It's not your fault," Bruce said fiercely, gripping the thin shoulders. "The people who did this – it's their guilt, not yours. Never yours." With a cry Dick buried his face against Bruce's chest. Bruce felt the tears soaking through his t-shirt and wished desperately for Rachel's advice. Or Alfred's. But Alfred had disappeared and Rachel was a thousand miles away. So he sat down and held on until the frightening violence of the sobs eased and the small form grew still. It was some time before Bruce realized that the boy had cried himself to sleep.

_Has Bruce at last broken through his ward's wall of silence? Are things looking up for the future of the Dynamic Duo?_

_Don't miss the gripping conclusion – same bat-time, same bat-channel._

**All bat-reviewers will be given a once-in-a-lifetime option on the purchase of a gorgeous set of stainless steal steak knives for only $19.99! 100 guaranteed rust resistant, each knife has a carved ebony handle with inlaid mother-of-pearl bats. And that's not all! Order within twenty-four hours and receive the latest model of the one-of-a-kind Bat-O-Matic: it slices, dices, and incinerates, and it's absolutely FREE with your purchase! That's a sixty dollar value for only $19.99! **

($75 shipping and handling fee)

**Notes to Reviewers** (in alphaBATical order)

**Ambertwilight:** Glad you're enjoying it! I know there hasn't been much "Batman" and I should probably warn you that there isn't going to be. This is a very short fic (two chapters to go) concentrating on the "Bruce" side of Batman.

**Antigone3:** I'm guessing the fact that you quoted it meant that you liked it? It just struck me as funny that Bruce was so set against polo in BB, so I couldn't help exploiting it a little.

**Gewher:** Here's hoping you didn't really die from suspense! I need all the reviewers I can get.

**IcyWaters:** Thanks for another tremendous review! I'm relieved the cereal thing wasn't too silly, and I totally agree that Alfred is the only who can get away with stuff like that. Probably the "Listen to me young man, I used to change your nappies," intimidation factor.

**Josette:** Why do you suppose it is that we love to read about the traumatized? As long, of course, as there's a certain amount of relief thrown in. I admit I'm a happy ending girl!

**L Moonshade: **Well, that's what happens. Yes, Dick has been through a lot, this chapter included. What's great about being a writer is that you can take kids in these awful situations and rescue them…(all without taking a single paramedics class!)

**Moonjava:** I'm glad you like my presentation of Bruce. I'm finding him increasingly difficult to write. I want to exploit his psychological tensions, but it would be disastrous to overdo the emotional bit. That's why I need reviewers to keep me balanced.

**Starpossum:** I don't know whether Robin is in Batman Begins. My hypothesis is that a little boy who appears in the middle and at the end will turn out to be Dick Grayson (hence, this story). Yeah, I want to hug Dick too. But I can't, so I had Bruce do it instead.

**TheAmazingTecnoColorRingWraith:** You got ripped off. Sorry, man, you just can't trust those evil dark lords.

**Torie: **Thanks for the review! I agree with you about the kid in the movie needing to be important, for artistic reasons if nothing else.

**TV Chick:** Good to see you. Not such a cliffhanger this time. (Although there was plenty of cliff-hanging in it! Hee hee)

**Shotboxer: **I love Alfred, too. I might even go so far as to say he's my favorite. I think this chapter answered your question!


	5. Sprouting Wings

**A/N** You may have noticed that the teaser at the end of the last chapter encouraged you to stay tuned for the "gripping conclusion." This is, in fact, not the conclusion of the story, gripping or otherwise. Originally it was the last chapter, but after rewriting some earlier sections and reading reviews, I realized it was too simplistic a wrap-up. This is now the next-to-concluding chapter. Apparently my teaser writer didn't get the memo. coughcough

A special, uber-Thank You! to all my reviewers, who broke that magic number 50 last chapter!

**Disclaimer:** No! I don't own Batman, Robin, Alfred, or Christian Bale, and thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you're at it, why don't you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it!

**Bat-Chapter 5: Sprouting Wings**

Batman took the night off, and Bruce Wayne was up before ten o'clock for the first time in recent memory. Dick's door was closed, and Bruce hoped the boy was still asleep.

Using a stealth that was peculiar in his own mansion, the billionaire sneaked down the stairway and made his way to the small kitchen. Alfred was nowhere to be seen. Bruce leaped for the fridge, kidnapped the orange juice, and ran for his life.

Safely behind the door of the gym, Bruce downed half the orange juice (no crystal goblet can compare with straight-from-the-carton), and enthusiastically threw himself into stretching. It had been a long time since he'd had the time, or energy, to really work out. Not that he didn't get plenty of practice.

The boring stuff (push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, and any other ups the reader would care to supply) out of the way, he selected a long, flexible pole just shorter than he was from the supply cupboard. Bowing to an imaginary opponent, he swung the pole over his head and moved across the mats, twisting, jumping, and rolling, and the pole always singing its deadly hum as it flashed through the air.

He was just getting into it when a flicker of color warned him he was no longer alone. Spinning, he dropped automatically into a defensive crouch.

If Dick Grayson's eyes had opened any wider they would have popped out of his head.

"Hey," greeted Bruce, grinning. "Want to play?"

"Yeah!" Dick ran forward. "Can I do _that_?"

"Sure. Run a lap around the mats while I find you a pole." The boy broke into a sprint, and Bruce walked over to the cupboard, hardly able to believe it was the same half-dead kid of the past three weeks. He located a smaller pole just as Dick finished his lap and came hurtling straight toward Bruce. _The kid's not going to stop!_ Bruce thought in amazement, and braced for impact. But just before collision became inevitable, Dick stopped moving forward and shot straight up instead. Turning a tight back flip, he landed neatly in front of Bruce.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Bruce demanded as Dick smirked at him.

"The circus."

"What? No way you were in the circus!"

"Well, not me exactly," Dick admitted, "but my mom was, before. We visited sometimes."

"Any particular circus?" Bruce asked, not betraying his sharp interest. This was the first information Dick had offered about his past, and it definitely hadn't been in the thin file Bruce had gotten from Employee Records.

Dick shrugged vaguely. "Different ones, I think. She knew lots of people."

Dick was actually talking voluntarily, and Bruce, afraid of pushing him, dropped the subject. "You can use this pole for now," he began, handing it to Dick. "It's a little long, but it will do until we can cut one down to size. This is the art of _Silambattam_. You begin by holding the pole like this…"

Forty-five minutes later they emerged from gym, dripping with sweat, to find Alfred waiting for them. "Breakfast, Master Wayne?"

"Ah, thanks, Alfred, but I really should shower," said Bruce, making a sideways move for the stairs.

"Me too," piped Dick.

_Ha!_ Bruce gloated. "Yeah, you really should," he agreed innocently.

Alfred remained unperturbed. "Oh course, sir. I shall expect you both in the kitchen after your showers."

Thirty minutes later, a clean Bruce snuck down the back stairs toward the carport. _What a pity that my urgent billionaire playboy business must keep me from the indigestible delights of…_

"Hi, Bruce!" Dick looked up from where he sat on the bottom step. "Alfred told me to wait for you here. Are you ready for breakfast?"

There was a look of such bright expectation on his face that Bruce couldn't bring himself to explain that he had a pressing engagement. _Outwitted again. It's a good thing the butler's on Batman's side._

It was waiting for him, bobbing gently in its pearly pool of milk, smelling like the feed bin on a cattle ranch. Bruce stared glumly at his bran pellets as Alfred solicitously inquired after Dick's desires.

"What would you care for this morning, Master Dick? Pancakes? An egg? Perhaps a bowl of Lucky Charms?"

"I'd like some Lucky Charms," Bruce suggested, and was ignored.

"I'll have some of that, please," decided Dick, pointing to Bruce's bowl.

Even Alfred appeared faintly surprised. "Are you quite certain?"

"Yes," Dick said firmly.

Without further demur Alfred poured the cereal and milk. "If I may make a suggestion, sir, I think that a bit of sugar would go well on top."

"I never get sugar," Bruce complained.

"Master Dick has no need to worry about his blood pressure."

Later that afternoon Bruce was "downstairs" doing a check on the underside of the Batmobile. Batman had come in for a rough landing on top of a spiked iron fence, and he wanted to make certain there wasn't any damage (to the vehicle – the fence had been demolished).

There was the click of measured footsteps on the cave floor, and then Alfred's polished shoes appeared beside the Batmobile. "Does everything seem to be in order sir?"

"I can't even find a scratch. Would you move that light a little to the left?" Alfred obliged and after another moment's examination Bruce asked, "Where's the kid?"

"I left Master Dick drawing in the library."

"Drawing…and yesterday he probably wouldn't have admitted he knew what a pencil was. Alfred, don't you think this is a little…sudden?"

"Undoubtedly, sir."

"I took him out to the reservoir this morning, and he wasn't even phased. Crawled right up to the edge to see where'd he fallen. He's like a completely different kid. You think this could be some kind of shock effect or evidence of some sort of…mental instability? Rachel once said something about taking him to an emotional trauma specialist."

"I suppose it's possible, sir, but I think the more likely explanation is that the appearance of a father figure…" He was cut off by a loud _thunk_ from beneath the Batmobile.

"Ouch." Bruce wiggled out from under the vehicle and stood up, gingerly patting his forehead. "Is it bleeding?"

"No, but you had better put some ice on it. Any goose that sees it is going to be envious."

Bruce raided Batman's supply of ice packs and sat down. "Now say that again…about why Dick is acting so…"

"Secure. He at last feels secure in his new surroundings, and you are the source of that security."

"As a father figure?" Bruce asked in disbelief.

"You must remember that the boy's own father died when he was very young. He has had nothing, not even a memory, to fill that space in his life."

Bruce still wasn't willing to give in. "I can't buy it. For the past three weeks I would have almost sworn he hated me."

"I don't he think he ever hated you, Master Wayne. He merely took his time assessing you. After the past few months, I don't suppose young Master Dick was ready to take anything at face value. He possibly also perceived you as the person keeping him from Miss Dawes."

"Why didn't he have the same problem with you?"

Alfred smiled. "Despite what I just said about face value, I believe it's the mustache. Children seem to find it reassuring."

"Really?" Bruce ran a finger over his own smooth upper lip. "Remind me to try it next time." Then the humor faded from his face and he shook his head. "I'm not father material, Alfred."

Alfred's voice was sharp. "Mentor, then, if you prefer the word. But what exactly did you think taking care of the boy would involve? Children are not polo ponies, you can't turn them over to the country club and pay the feed bill once a month."

Bruce sighed and set down the ice pack. "I didn't think. I just…seeing him there so alone…it was like seeing…myself. I couldn't leave him there, couldn't let him go to people who wouldn't understand, might not care…"

"You do care about the boy, then?"

"Of course! But…What if I fail him? What if I can't…be what he needs me to be?" He strode impatiently across the room and snatched the horned mask from the cupboard. "Rachel told me that Bruce Wayne is nothing but a mask. That this," he shook the black face, "is all that's real. What if she's right? What if the symbol has consumed the man until there's nothing but…Batman?"

"Bosh," Alfred said crisply. "Tap that bump on your head, sir, you're human enough. But if you do decide Miss Dawes is correct, then you should move the boy out immediately, for his sake." Alfred collected the melting ice pack and headed for the stairs. At their base, he hesitated and turned back. "If there is anything of Bruce Wayne left, you might consider that he needs

Richard Grayson just as much as Richard Grayson needs him."

Alfred mounted the stairs and reentered the house, leaving Bruce staring into the empty eyes of the mask.

_Can Bruce face this ultimate responsibility?_

_Find out in the (for real) gripping conclusion – same bat-time, same bat-channel._

**All bat-reviewers will receive a miniature chocolate model of the bat-cave. Comes in milk, dark, and semi-sweet.**

**Notes to Reviewers** (in alphabetical order)

**Antigone3:** Well, I'm glad at least that the slash visions were uncalled for. I am not a slash fan in any way, shape, or form, and that's one thing I can promise you will never see in my stories. One of the biggest problems with slash is that it molds people to think that there can never be an intense relationship that doesn't involve a sexual element. Furthermore, it's almost always a flagrant character distortion… Anyway… You got on your soapbox, and I guess I got on mine!

It would have been hilarious if Alfred really _had_ used a polo mallet. The screenwriters should have come to you for that, and to get Rachel untangled. Although I don't know that I agree she comes across as self-righteous. Idealist, yes, but I never really thought of her as a prig. I'll have to think about it when I watch it again. (Have to wait till it hits the cheap theater, though.) And thanks for quoting. It's always so interesting to see which bits jump out at people.

**Archer:** Do you get as antsy as I do when you can't get to the computer? No day is complete without the checking email AT LEAST once. And glad you liked my Robyn/Robin idea. A robin is a rather odd choice for a superhero, so I had to get creative.

**Dot: **Thanks for your note! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Gewher:** Lol! Did Batman ever pick you up off that cliff? Anyway, I'm glad you're not dead and that the "maybe he needs someone to help him line" didn't come across as too cheesy. And thank you, along with Antigone3 and IcyWaters, for letting me know which line really stuck out for you.

**Firebrand Crest Bearer:** Thanks! One more chapter to go…

**IcyWaters:** Climactic emotional scenes can really damage a story if they go awry, so I was very relieved to read your reassurance that it was not, in fact, "trite, sappy, or overstated." I was nervous about the blanket too (haunted by the Bane of the Blatant Blanket), but you reassured me on that score. And please don't ever stop quoting lines you like. It's so interesting to see what really jumps out at the reader. Usually they're ones I'm fond of too, but once in a while there's a surprise. The mountains of Tibet line, for example, was written with certain misgivings. And should you ever see a line that just strikes you as BAD, please don't hesitate to let me know.

**Katie: **I'm glad you laughed at the cereal and polo ponies. The problem with being an author is that you're too familiar with your own jokes and you start to wonder if they're really funny. At the moment, in fact, I'm wondering whether I overdid the cereal bit in this chapter.

**Mad Melma: **Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Moonjava:** No worries about lateness. When it comes to reviews, I'll take them hot, cold, and nine days old.

**MsJonyReb:** I guess this chapter revealed my take on Bruce and Dick's relationship. I did wonder for a while whether Dick's sudden devotion was too good to be true, but the more I thought about it – the way he had this 'male mentor void' without even memories of his dad – and remembered little kids in my own experience who developed overnight hero complexes for quite ordinary people, the more I felt it was believable.

**Pun:** Good to see you're still around and enjoying yourself!

**Shotboxer:** Oh yeah, all authors are evil manipulators, and all characters are constantly being set up. Would you believe I didn't notice the falling in the hole parallel until after I wrote it? Good ol' subconscious.

**Starpossum:** Yeah, I love Alfred. I've said that before and I'll say it again: I LOVE YOU, ALFRED!

**TheAmazingTecnocoloredRingWraith:** Sorry, cash or check only. What number are you?

**Tega:** Gripping conclusion…um, obviously not. The next chapter really is the last, though. And, as a matter of fact, there is a sequel. This fic raises too many questions not to have one.

**TVChick:** Oh yeah, I agree about the real identities being more interesting. It must be because when they're wearing the secret identity, all you see is the mask and the flying fists. You can't inside their heads.

**WolfDaughter:** Oh man, I'm glad I didn't think about real climbers reading this story until I read your review. But apparently my imagination pulled through! (In other words, I don't climb…I did get stranded on a very steep hill in the rain once. "It gets a little rough," my cousin said. HA! He was lucky he didn't have my dead body on his hands…)


	6. Birds of a Feather

**A/N **Yes, I know it's been only one day since the last update, and yes, I know I probably couldn't have chosen a worse day (except Christmas) to post the conclusion (my own copy of The Half-Blood Prince is waiting for me). However, I'm going to be internetless for the next eight days (I'm going to DIE!), so I figured you'd rather have it now than next Monday.

**Disclaimer:** Oh yeah, I own Batman. Uh-huh. looks around furtively, then opens side of trench coat Hey, buddy, wanna buy a watch?

**Bat-Chapter 6: Birds of a Feather**

When Rachel Dawes pulled up to Wayne Manor, she was surprised not to find Dick waiting in his usual spot on the front steps. A crease of worry wrinkled her brow as she walked up the steps to where Alfred held the door open.

"Good evening, Miss Dawes."

"Hello, Alfred. How's Dick doing?"

The butler couldn't repress a smile of grandfatherly pride. "Master Dick is doing quite well. I believe you will find him by the pool." Leaving her purse in the hallway, Rachel walked to the back of the house and stepped out of the glass doors onto the flagstone terrace. There was a wild yell and she turned just in time to see Dick hurl himself off the diving board, turning a double flip before straightening into a sleek dive. She stood still in amazement as she watched Dick swim over and try to push Bruce's head underwater. Bruce lifted him and threw him halfway across the pool where Dick hit the water with a shriek of glee and came up laughing. Then he pushed the hair out of his eyes and saw her. "Rachel!"

Rachel smiled and walked forward as Dick scrambled out of the pool and came running toward her. "Hey, buddy!" She knelt down to receive his hug, then pushed him away, laughing. "What are you trying to do, get me all wet?"

Dick looked at her critically. "You're not _all_ wet."

"Not yet she's not."

Rachel looked up in surprise at a dripping Bruce. "What do you…No! Bruce, don't you dare!" Ignoring her protests, Bruce threw her over his shoulder and ran toward the pool. Rachel's shriek was cut off as her mouth filled with water. She came up sputtering and glared into an amused pair of bright blue eyes. "Very funny."

He grinned engagingly. "It's no fun unless everybody plays."

For a moment Rachel felt herself relaxing into that smile. Then she pushed him away and snapped, "At least you already own _this_ pool." She hurriedly focused her attention on Dick who stood at the edge, laughing hysterically. "Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?"

"You scream like a girl!" he gasped.

"That's because I am a girl, _Mister_ Grayson." She grabbed his hand and tumbled him into the water.

"Ahem!" Alfred at last made himself heard over Dick's shrieking. "Dinner, sir, will be served in five minutes."

It was rather more than five minutes before the three swimmers made it to the dinner table. Rachel was the last to make her appearance, wrapped feet to chin in one of the fluffy robes kept for poolside loungers. She nervously eyed Bruce, who stood by her chair, but he merely seated her, then took his own place at the head of the table.

The conversation was nearly all Rachel and Dick. Bruce contributed the occasional remark, but spent most of the time in silence, wearing an abstracted look. Rachel caught Dick sending puzzled looks at his guardian, but she managed to steer the conversation clear of any troubled waters.

They finished with the double fudge chocolate cake and Bruce stood. "Excuse me, I have a thing at eight I need to get ready for. It was nice to see you, Rachel."

She refused to return the compliment. "Goodbye, Bruce."

Dick licked the last of the icing off his fork. "Bye, Bruce."

"Bye, Dick. See you tomorrow."

"So what do you want to do?" Rachel asked when she and Dick were alone.

"I drew something," he said shyly. "You want to see it?"

"I would love to see it." Rachel allowed Dick to lead her up to his room and seat her at his desk.

The boy pulled a dog-eared sheaf of papers from the drawer. "Actually, I was kind of wondering if you could help me with something. It's a comic book, and the words need wrote in real small."

"Written in," Rachel corrected absently, peering at the page before her. Rows of slightly crooked boxes were filled with painstaking detail. "Is that…Batman?"

"Yep. It's a comic book about Batman," Dick explained. "Can you write the words for me?"

"Definitely." _And I definitely want to know just how much __you__ know about Batman._

But any fears that Dick was more enlightened than the rest of the city were soon laid to rest. The storyline consisted of a space alien invasion, and Batman spent all his time wearing his mask and disposing of the tentacled creatures in a decidedly gory manner.

"Do you think alien guts really look like that?" Dick asked, pointing to a picture showing the aftermath of Batman's bat-chopper (a machine bearing more resemblance to the guillotine than the helicopter).

"It wouldn't surprise me," answered Rachel. In her relief over the harmless (aside from mass slaughter) content of the pictures, she would have agreed to almost anything. "Why is this box blank?"

"That's where Batman uses his bat-bomb-exterminator. Can you write KABOOM! so it fills up the whole box? And then put a sort of spiky bubble around it."

Rachel's pencil scratched for a minute. "How's that?"

Dick examined it critically. "Pretty good." He turned the page. "Ok, here the bat-bomb killed the alien boss, but it knocked Batman off the edge of the roof. See, he's hanging on to this ledge here. And this is me. And I say, 'Need a rope, Batman?' and then I throw down a rope."

Rachel obediently wrote in the words, refraining from asking where Dick (or his rope) had come from.

"Then Batman climbs up and says, 'Thanks, kid!' and I say, 'See you later, Batman!' and then he has to fly off because the aliens are going to blow up the train." Rachel wrote it in and Dick turned the page. "But see, these aliens saw me help Batman so they come after me. But they're kind of stupid so they crash the flying saucer but this piece of it knocks me off the roof. And I have to hang on to the same ledge Batman did and I'm saying, 'Heeeeeeelp!'"

"Ok." Rachel flexed her cramped fingers. "Who's this guy?"

"That's Bruce."

"Bruce?"

"Yeah. He heard me calling for help and he says, "Hang on, I'm coming!' and then he gets this rope and climbs down and rescues me."

"Bruce does all that, huh?"

"Yup." Dick wiggled impatiently while she wrote it in, and Rachel guessed his favorite part of the story was coming up. "And see Batman comes flying over after he saved the train. And he says, 'You need any help down there?' and then Bruce says, 'We got it covered, Batman. You go take care of those aliens!'"

Batman had just finished saving the world when Alfred entered the room. "Bedtime, Master Dick."

"Not already!" Dick protested.

"I'm afraid it's after nine o'clock. But perhaps if you ask very politely, Miss Dawes would stay and say goodnight to you."

Dick swung pleading puppy eyes to Rachel and she laughed. "Of course I will."

"Rachel," Dick said suddenly as she pulled the sheet up to his chin, "who do you think Batman is?"

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "It's not who Batman is underneath that's important. It's what he does that defines him." Dick looked puzzled so she explained, "I mean that the things he does tell us a lot more about who he is than we could ever know from his name."

"Oh." Dick thought about that for a moment. "Is that true about everybody?"

"Yes." Rachel bent and kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight, Dick. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Rachel." Dick settled down on his pillow, an intent look in his pale eyes.

"Hey, do you mind if I look at these some more?" she held up the comic book pages.

"Sure."

Rachel flipped off the light and walked out of the room, encountering Alfred just down the hall. "All safely tucked in," she announced. "Ah, would it be all right if I stuck around until Bruce comes home? I'd like to talk to him."

"Of course." He settled her in one of the smaller living rooms with a cup of tea, and she curled up on the end of the deep leather sofa. Setting Dick's pages on the end table, she pillowed her head on the cushy arm rest. _Just for a moment…_

The sound of rustling paper woke her, and she squinted around in confusion before remembering where she was. Bruce sat on the other end of the couch, leafing through Dick's comic book. He'd abandoned his tuxedo jacket, his tie was dangling in a state of untie, and his dark hair was tousled, outlining the purply-green bruise on his forehead. "What happened to your head?" Rachel demanded.

A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. "Alfred hit me. With a polo mallet."

"Is that the official story?"

"It's less embarrassing than the truth."

"Which would be...?"

"I was working under the car and sat up too fast."

"Really." Her tone was filled with doubt.

The smile was creeping across the whole of his mouth now. "You're disappointed!" he accused. "You'd rather I'd been clobbered by a thug, or hurled through a twentieth story window, wouldn't you?"

"No!" she exclaimed indignantly. "It just…sounded a little unlikely, that's all."

"I'm human, Rachel. Sometimes I do stupid things."

_Why does that unsettle me so much?_ She switched topics. "Why did Dick draw you rescuing him from the top of a fifty story building?"

"Yeah…" Bruce quickly explained Dick's flight, fall, and rescue.

"And it was after this that he started displaying such…"

"A sense of security?" Bruce supplied, a faintly ironical note in his voice. "Yes."

Rachel sighed. "Bruce, it's not that I'm not glad he's settling in here. You seem to be doing a really great job with him." She hesitated, not quite daring to meet his eyes. "But I don't…I don't…"

"Want him to be hurt. Like you were hurt."

_Why do I feel like the one accused_? "You disappeared for seven years! How do I know you're not going to walk out on _him_ some day?"

He wore the small, tight smile like a shield. "As you so carefully pointed out to me, the man who disappeared eight years ago never came back. I think it's safe to say he no longer exists."

Rachel Dawes had more guts than the rest of her office put together, but beneath his unrelenting gaze and cold, uncompromising voice, she felt herself shrink back against the arm of the sofa, almost trembling. _Who are you?_

Then he softened, shoulders slumping, tired lines relaxing the corners of his mouth. "I understand your concerns. Believe me, I've used all those arguments myself, because I do want what's best for Richard. He needs a home, security, friendship, and I can give him those things. I _need_ to give him those things. He's returning this house to what it used to be."

"What's that?" she whispered.

"A monument to life – the legacy of the generations of my family who have lived here. I'd forgotten, Rachel. I'd forgotten that there was more to being alive than eating and sleeping and dreading tomorrow." His fingers gently brushed her cheek. "I can't promise you that I will never hurt him. But if I gave him to you, and our situations were reversed, could you make that promise to me?"

Her gaze dropped and she pulled away from his touch.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred stood in the doorway. "A call for you, sir. It's urgent."

Bruce nodded, not taking his eyes off Rachel. "I have to go."

"I understand," she replied, refusing to look at him.

After he was gone, she sat still for a long time, staring down at a penciled page. _We got it covered, Batman._

At last she reached for her purse and drew out a folded document. It was the lease for an apartment - in a building that allowed children. Setting her lips firmly, Rachel tightened her fingers and tore it in half.

* * *

Gordon stood alone, watching the smoldering warehouse. He barely twitched when a voice rasped from the shadows behind him, "Where is he?"

"If he's still alive he's on the roof." There wasn't even a whisper of sound, but when Gordon turned around he found himself again alone.

Batman shot his grappling hook to the top of the neighboring building and scaled up to the roof. Ignoring the crunch of pigeon dung beneath his boots, he crouched on the edge nearest the still smoking warehouse. The heat of the fire rendered his infrared viewers useless, but his unaided eyes spotted the crouched figure on the far edge.

_How can he hope for escape? The building is surrounded._ It was possible, of course, that the fugitive was well acquainted with some of the law officers below, but these were Gordon's men under Gordon's eye. Batman was willing to wager the man had something else in mind. The question was answered by the far-away drone of a helicopter and the sudden straightening of the dark figure. _So he's got friends in high places. I'm afraid they're going to be disappointed._

Batman retreated to the middle of the roof, then ran and leaped off the edge. He glided over the twenty feet between the buildings and landed in a crouch. The structure shuddered beneath his weight, and he could feel the heat through his boots. Moving cautiously through the hazy air, he slipped up behind his quarry. The man was too focused on the approaching helicopter to notice his companion until a voice rasped, "Waiting for someone?"

He spun and let out a startled curse, before Batman grabbed his arms in a crushing grip. "I have a train to catch," the mask hissed. "You wouldn't happen to know the schedule?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" The prisoner tried to kick himself free, just as a round of bullets sprayed the deck. The weakened wood gave way and both men crashed through to the interior.

The smoke was much thicker inside, and the fugitive's chances of air weren't improved by the iron grip around his neck. "We've got to get out of here!" he wheezed.

"Thank your friends for the change of scenery. Now, about that train…"

"All right, I'll talk!" the man begged. "But not to you. Take me to the police!"

Batman smiled grimly. "That can be arranged."

Fresh bullets zinged through the hole in the roof, and Batman dragged his captive across the broken floor to a window. "I hope you don't mind heights. Or falling from them."

Gordon spun. There lay the man he was sure had escaped by death or flight. His hands were bound, and the wedge of metal caught in the cord was shaped like a bat.

* * *

It was nearly three when Bruce Wayne slipped into his ward's dark room. He stood for a moment, looking down at the quiet figure, and then Dick rolled over and opened his eyes. "Hi, Bruce."

Bruce crouched down. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Why not?"

"I was thinking." He sniffed, his nose wrinkling. "You smell like smoke."

"There was a fire."

"Did you have to pull some people out of the fire?"

Bruce smiled in the dim light. _Pull a kid off a cliff and he thinks you can save the world. _"I'm not a firefighter, Dick."

"But you're Batman."

It felt like getting kicked in the gut by a polo pony. When he recovered enough breath to speak evenly he asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Rachel told me."

There was no way he'd heard that right. "_What?_"

"She said we know who people are because of the stuff they do. You and Batman…do the same stuff."

It would have been so easy to tell Dick that he was imagining things – jumping to conclusions. Bruce looked at his ward's pale face and thought, _He knows that he has the truth. And if I lie to him…he'll know that too._

"So did you get them?"

"Who?" Bruce asked in confusion.

"The people in the burning building."

_Rachel, this is not my fault._ "There was just one. And yes, I got him."

"That's good," Dick said and then continued softly, "because sometimes you can't get them all."

_This was a lot easier when he didn't talk to me_. Bruce sighed and sat on the floor, resting his arms on his knees. "Are you angry with me?"

"No," Dick said immediately. "I'm going to learn how to fly pretty soon, and then I can help you. Maybe we can get them all."

_Over Rachel's dead body_. Out loud he said, "We'll see."

"My mom said that. Usually it means yes." Dick yawned.

Bruce couldn't repress a grin. _Cocky little kid. _He rose and crossed to the door. "Go to sleep," he commanded.

"Good night, Bruce."

"Good night, Dick."

_The End_

**All bat-reviewers will receive the undying gratitude of the author. Lousy compensation? Yes. But look at this way: you actually **_**get**_** this prize.**

**A/N** Originally this was intended as a short, stand alone fic, explaining the origins of Robin in the BB universe. But instead of being self-contained, the story only opened more questions – Who were Robin's parents? What was their connection to Wayne Enterprises? And how does Robin transform from little boy to super side-kick?

_Action. Attraction. And most importantly, ANSWERS! Be sure to join us for the enthralling sequel to __The Nestling_.

_**Toward a Dark Horizon**_

_Coming August 1 - same bat-time, same bat-channel._

**Notes to Reviewers** (in alphabetical order)**:**

**Black 201:** Oh yes, Rachel was involved. Definitely. This story couldn't have ended without her!

**Crystal:** When I was little I used to pretend I was Catwoman. (Mostly so I could marry Batman.) She has a place in the dim future of this story (as in…the sequel to the sequel…) but who knows if I'll ever get that far.

**Dot:** I feel kind of like Peter clapping for Tinkerbell. "I believe you exist, Bruce!"

**Gewher:** You're one of my most faithful reviewers. Thank you so much for all the encouragement, and I hope to see you at the sequel!

**IcyWaters: **Thanks very much for the editing note. (This chapter probably needed a few as well…it's kind of a rush job.) I also nabbed your sentence rewrite, hope you don't mind! I've considered getting a beta, but that would mean working ahead even more, something that's a little difficult for me. As you can see, your demand for a sequel has been heard and will be answered. (So accommodating, aren't I? pats self on back) Anything for my reviewers! Speaking of, thank you so much for your faithful and insightful reviews! They gave me a lot of confidence in this story.

**JustCallMeEli:** Yes, this story is ending, but another is just beginning! (Isn't that a quote from somewhere?) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the conclusion enough to follow the continuation! And I'm glad that you, and so many others, enjoyed Bruce and Alfred's little game of breakfast manipulation. It's so fun to stick these really light scenes in the middle of a somewhat dark story. It keeps the balance.

**L Moonshade:** Yes, definitely planning on writing more. These characters have taken over my brain, and the only way to keep from going nuts is to write 'em out!

**Mad Melma:** Whoa, very glad I'm not inspiring you to flamies! It's very flattering to know that I can entertain longtime Batman fans as well as newcomers (like myself). Thanks for the great review (long ones are the best!) and hope to see you at the sequel!

**Starpossum:** Every time I read your reviews, I get warm fuzzies all over! You've been one of my favorite reviewers, so thank you very much! I hope you stick around for the sequel!

**TheAmazingTecnocolorRingWraith:** Ten, huh? That's cool. Eowyn can still kick all your butts… (Hee hee.) Yeah, sure I'll take Morbucks. Nonexistent currency for nonexistent product sounds fair to me! Thank you for your faithful reviews!

**Tega: **Your favorite? That makes me happy! I'm feel a little ambiguous about sequels, myself. Sometimes they're awesome (Spidey 2), and sometimes they're awful (almost any Disney sequel).

**TV Chick:** Yes, Dick's circus background made it in, thanks to Ouatic7 who drew my attention to that rather important point of canon. Thanks for all your reviews!

**Wolf Daughter:** It wasn't any important hillside…just a steep bank by the river where my cousin used to live. But VERY slippery in the rain!


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